


Siege to a noble castle

by FLWhite



Category: Samurai Warriors
Genre: Anal Fingering, Aphrodisiacs, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Historical, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 20:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FLWhite/pseuds/FLWhite
Summary: The memory he wanted came to him with ease, having been summoned nearly every night in the last fifteen years and not a little ragged with wear. It enveloped him warmly, eagerly, like the sun-heated waters of the sea.***Akechi Mitsuhide recalls an intimate scene with his lord Nobunaga.





	Siege to a noble castle

**Author's Note:**

> Another ancient fic scooped from the bowels of my Livejournal (written in 2007 [!!]).

One of the servants had lit a single lamp in the room, but it was behind a screen. Fixedly he watched the gently bobbing semicircle of tawny light, lying like a blanket on the tatami. The summer was despicable this year, so close and hot that he wanted only to lie in the shade on a balcony with his feet in cold water. But such behavior was certainly unbecoming in the person of the Imperial Regent, and so he sat each dawn before his papers, met with his council, ate and slept, numb as a man of wood.  
  
Mitsuyoshi had sent word by messenger earlier that day that the harvests at home in Sakamoto would be very good this year, and asked if he were not too occupied to return for the Bon dances; he had not sent anything back.

He did not want to leave the capital, oppressive though the heat and endless work of administering the land were to a man no longer young. He loosened his sash and lay down on the futon, arms and fingers spread beside him, and contemplated the ceiling, its unadorned beams smoothly glowing in the lamplight.

The memory he wanted came to him with ease, having been summoned nearly every night in the last fifteen years and not a little ragged with wear. It enveloped him warmly, eagerly, like the sun-heated waters of the sea.  
  
*  
The light had gleamed just so on the beams overhead after Nobunaga had the lamp put on the other side of the bed-screen. It was winter--he remembered only because the heavy futon had been brought out, and felt thick and yielding under him. Though the braziers had been burning in the rear corridors that gave him entry to the lord's quarters, he had shivered in a single robe and bare feet, the usual accoutrements of these nighttime summonses. Thus he had been first commanded to warm himself with a piping half-bottle of wine, and subsequently to get under the covers straight away. "I oughtn't, my lord." A protest as customary as his bare feet.  
  
"Mitsuhide." Nobunaga smirked. "It is my command." Continuing their ritual. Sometimes he would be "Momomaru" at this point, and would be obliged to protest that, when age rather than rank was considered, such abuse of an elder's child-name warranted chastisement. There would be much teasing--how he loved raising a hand in mock anger, and watching his lord's smiling penitence!

But those instances had become rather rarer, particularly after the surrender of the Hongan-ji and the razing of the Saika-ikki's village; indeed, he came thus to Nobunaga's room covertly less and less, now, and this was the first night-call he had received in nearly half a year.

But he was happy nonetheless.

Undoing the paper string that held his hair, he slid between the covers carefully, straightening the other pillow as his elbow knocked it askew and slowly laid himself onto his own. The crepe that covered it crunched softly against his cheek, and he turned himself face-up, allowing the warmth of the blankets and the liquor to seep into his limbs from his belly and chest, in which his pulse throbbed, embarrassingly quick.  
  
"Mitsuhide, are you asleep?" Nobunaga was well outside his field of vision; from the small wet sounds he conjectured that ink was being ground, but for what manner of urgent business at this late hour he could not imagine. He kept his eyes half-shut as his lord's shadow slid over the beams, and footsteps went to a corner, in which he had earlier remarked a new and very fine black-lacquered cabinet-box.

"That wine must have been more potent than I thought, then. Those namban priests are certainly more epicurean sorts than our own bald crows." He could not resist a chuckle, and instantly Nobunaga was looming over him, and then was on hands and knees over him.

"Pretending sleep and ignoring your lord! What would your own retainers think of such behavior, lord Akechi?" Before he could muster a suitably silly yet inoffensive reply, he found himself returning a kiss so fervent that, caught by surprise, he gasped for breath at its conclusion. It had been a long while since he had felt the rough, masterful tenderness of that mouth, and he had nearly forgotten what powerful heat it could ignite in his face and between his legs.  
  
Unconsciously he raised a hand to his lips, feeling a bit of spittle there, instead to find a dark reddish substance smeared on his fingers, a fine-grained powder suspended in thick clear fluid, like rouge in oil. "Lord Nobunaga?" But then he was being kissed again. In the confusion of tongues, teeth and lips a very faintly sweetish something was pushed into his mouth, which he swallowed involuntarily.

"Lord Nobunaga," he said again, reaching upward, intending to ask about the curious stuff, but Nobunaga gripped his hand and, smiling, pressed him down with a third kiss, saying as he did, "That ought to be plenty."  
  
He forgot about the mysterious red powder very quickly.

The hands that slid over his flesh made him groan, though they moved lightly; struggling to his knees, with his face pressed like a child into his lord's shoulder, he thought he would dirty himself even before Nobunaga finished taking off his robe, and panted for mercy.

Nobunaga only laughed and continued to trace the faintest of caresses on Mitsuhide's neck, gently tugging at the collar of the flimsy robe until it parted further. Agonizingly slow strokes of the tongue on nipples and clavicles. Mitsuhide gave only a single, seismic shudder before crying aloud as he came.  
  
"How awful, Mitsuhide," breathed Nobunaga into a hot scarlet ear. "Have you been disputing with your wife? Have you run out of serving-girls?"  
  
"No, lord--I,--" He found himself breathing too raggedly to reply. "I did not mean to, I have never been--like this..." He cast a shamefaced look at his rather damp groin and found himself as impassioned as before. "Perhaps it was the wine--I should not have drunk it so quickly."

To have polluted himself before pleasuring lord Nobunaga--he was not nearly as young as he had been, their very first night, and had not been a boy even then--how was it that he could remain like this: shamefully, beastly hard?

And lord Nobunaga, too, seemed unusually amorous--flushed, and with his excitement very visible indeed under his own house-robe.  
  
"No matter, no matter." Nobunaga planted his lips on a nipple and bit it. "Assist me at once in the removal of this obstruction," he said, sliding his thumb under the sash; within the minute it was undone, and then the loincloth alone remained. "Help me with mine, Mitsuhide."

They clasped each other on top of the blankets, it being much too warm under them, and before they removed their loincloths Mitsuhide had again exhausted himself into his. "Lord Nobunaga," he said weakly as teeth scraped his still-firm erection through the fabric stretched over it, "I must be ill--please allow me to--" he gasped, and clutched at a shoulder, clenching his fingertips into the muscle, corded as Nobunaga leaned on that arm and sat upright. "My lord, you will kill me!"  
  
Nobunaga's eyes, ever dark, gleamed at this. "Indeed?"  
  
"My lord, mercy--mm!" Even the sensation of his loincloth being at last peeled away made him twinge--what was the matter with him? His head was light and his mouth tasted of salt and sugar at once. Thinking of this he remembered the red powder, and, straining to turn about in Nobunaga's grip, said, "My lord--that powder, could it have been--"  
  
"Dear Mitsuhide, need you ask?"

A slow and incendiary look. "To lay siege to a noble castle one requires all the materiel, does one not? Powder, and steel?" They were both entirely nude, now, and Nobunaga wrapped both arms around Mitsuhide's waist from behind, dropped a lazy hand to fondle his sticky erection. "And with both batter the walls until the vanquished must acquiesce and beg succor?"  
  
All at once his dizziness fled, and he had returned to the wasted fields of the Saika-ikki, the weeds stained with blood and broken flesh--how his heart had beaten then, rough and wild like the hooves of an unbroken stallion! How his heart beat now, as though it would snap his ribs and fall upon the floor!  
  
He was but another fortress to be crumbled now, another conquest?  
  
But he and the powder that sang in each sinew and vein could not resist. His very blood moaned as two fingers, slicked with the best perfumed oil, stroked back from his quivering cock, cradling it briefly, then pressed teasingly around the muscles of his entrance.

"Ah," he cried as one fingertip briefly slipped inside him, and could not force down the whimper as it retreated again. His lord, whose face was shadowed behind him, was saying something, but it was so hard to hear over the tattoo of his pulse, the rushing in his ears--was it the wind that blew over the ruins of the stronghold of the Saika?

A stinging slap to his rear. "Mitsuhide! You dare ignore your lord?"  
  
"I--" He flinched as another slap landed. "I apologize."  
  
"As I said, then--the moment has arrived where you, my coveted, must fall." A whisper that tingled the hairs on his neck. "Tell me what it is you desire, Mitsuhide."  
  
He whimpered, the shade of a crow picking at a dead man's ribs drifting before him, but his body, flushed and trembling like a bowstring, spoke first. "You--my lord."  
  
*  
He inhaled deeply. The incense that lord Nobunaga had so preferred was as strong as the man himself, smoky and as sensual as a caress. It was not hard to find, and so he had it burned frequently. It was burning now, and crept at him from all around--it was heavy, the scent and the heat together, and he sat up, intending to clean himself of the shameful traces of his reverie and put out the incense-brazier.

The servants ought to know better than to burn it in the worst heat of the summer. As he began to rise, a shadow cast on the folds of the screen slid toward him, its step sure and quick--he gasped, and coughed, Nobunaga's perfume was so thick. Inscrutably the phantom watched him with its hooded eyes. "My lord!" His hand stretched forward of its own volition, and found only the air.

The shade of Nobunaga uncreased its thin lips in a smile. What is it that you desire, my Mitsuhide? It asked him.  
  
He could not answer for the tears that swept away his voice. Presently the phantom vanished, but still he sobbed, silently. That well-worn memory had been the final time they had met, he creeping like a thief to lord Nobunaga's chamber.

A year later, he had raced to Honnou-ji, trying to forget that last night, the sweet sticky taste of the red powder and the paralyzing ecstasy that, in the end, overtook him five times. But then among the flames, he could not bring down his blade, and wept as he wept now, noiselessly, crouched in bitterness.

  
"What is it that you desire, Mitsuhide?" He had looked up, and found his lord's face, smiling a smile he had never seen before--one that shook him as it steeled him, and he tightened his grip on the handle of his sword. "Your life, my lord."  
  
"Then take it, Mitsuhide." Nobunaga had opened his arms. "Take my life."  
  
Then, the horrible boom of an arquebus, and his lord had gone.


End file.
